


Foundations

by Bluemary



Series: Utopia [2]
Category: Watchmen (2009), Watchmen - All Media Types
Genre: Adrian is his own warning, Angst and Feels, Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Sexual Content, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Karnak, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-11
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2018-09-07 22:50:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 19,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8819221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluemary/pseuds/Bluemary
Summary: To open his eyes felt like allowing the painful throb that was already torturing his temples to pierce his head from side to side.For a terrifying moment he didn't see anything, only the black veil made of pain and dizziness that surrounded him like a shroud. He blinked, and then one single image got embedded on his retina: golden strands, an ageless face, two blue shards that had been both horror and consolation of his past nights. He curved his lips into a bitter smile, or maybe he only tried to.“I knew I would go to hell,” he murmured, with what little breath he had left.Then darkness swallowed him whole.
Sequel to Debris.





	1. Chapter 1: Never compromise

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, glad you stopped by! I'm a huge fan of Watchmen and of the Dan/Adrian pairing from the movie, and this fic is my biggest contribution to those wonderful characters. The story is completed, but it's in my mother language, so I still have to translate it to English. I'll try to update at least once a week. Also, it's unbetaed, so I apologize in advance for the mistakes that there will surely be there.  
> That said, any comments or feedbacks is very welcome and appreciated. I hope you'll like this story of mine. Enjoy your reading!

**Chapter 1: Never compromise**

 

An agile movement of his arm to throw the man over his own shoulders, his hips giving the necessary strength, the thud of a body falling deadweight on the road, where it remained without moving. Everything had happened in a few seconds and now Dan was standing straight again, ready to face another assailant.

He was breathing faster than usual, more because of the adrenalin than because of the effort, while his opponents, or at least the ones still conscious and capable of moving, were panting in fear and seemed like they had lost the arrogance they had showed towards him at the beginning.

They were some cheap criminals: pushers, pimps, the invisible scum that infested the streets at night. Nothing too dangerous.

A knife appeared at the edge of his sight. He crouched down and stretched his right leg, making the armed man trip. A hard kick at his face, strong enough to break his nose, made him scream hoarsely, but another kick at his solar plexus silenced him.

Without a moment of hesitation, Dan turned around, looking for the next opponent, but no one seemed keen on attacking him. His eyes caught two men still standing, while three of them were already unconscious or too hurt to fight again. The ease with which he had disposed of over half of them had made the others cautious, since now they seemed more prone to stay away from him than to go into offensive.

“So, are you gonna fight me or run away?” he provoked them.

The reaction was instantaneous: the biggest one attacked him faster than he expected, while the other one pulled out a switchblade and then sprang to his left, in the attempt to attack him from behind his back. He didn't give him the opportunity, since he kicked the unarmed one, sending him against his companion in one single move. While the man with the knife rolled on the ground, dizzy from the hit, he waited for the other to regain his feet.

“You fucking son of a bitch. I'm gonna kill you!” the criminal growled, accompanying his threat with a frontal attack.

_Too slow._

He used his forearm to divert the fist and then he hit him fully in the face, once, twice, a third time, feeling his knuckles hurting even through the protective gauntlets. His aggressor had lost a good numbers of his teeth when he fell down, too stunned to even react.

The man with the knife was on his feet again and launched himself in an attack, but Dan was waiting for him: he avoided the blade without any actual efforts, then he slammed him against the wall of the closest building. Without giving him any time to recover, he grabbed his hand, forcing him to let the knife go, then he twisted his arm until he heard it snap. Before the man could scream, he punched him on his side, aiming at his kidneys at full force. A moment later, the criminal was on the ground, unconscious.

Taking deep breaths, Dan looked around. There were five bloodied bodies on the ground, while he was the only one standing.

For the last few days, his patrols had been more violent than usual. He didn't kill criminals, he still hadn't come this far and he hoped he never would, but the snap of the bones breaking under his hits had been a familiar sound that accompanied most of his nights.

His lips curved into a smile.

Rorschach would have been proud of him.

He didn't bother tying up the men on the ground: knowing how much hurt they were, he doubted they would be able to stand in a short time. He made an anonymous call to the police, instead, and then he started walking towards the place he had left Archie.

He hadn't covered half a mile when a group of people caught his attention.

They seemed more prepared than the criminals he had just defeated: iron bars, knives, brass knuckles... Not that it would make a difference, against him. With Rorschach he had destroyed much more dangerous gangs and even since he had been patrolling alone he had found himself in worse situations.

He attacked without any plans, letting his experience guide him in a whirl of kicks, punches and parries. His reflexes allowed him to avoid most of the hits and the few that reached him were softened by his costume. In a few minutes he had already knocked out two men and was taking care of the third, not caring about the pain due to the few hits he hadn't been able to avoid. He didn't have Rorschach's stoicism, but a high pain tolerance was an unavoidable consequence of the years spent as a vigilante.

He disarmed the closest man elbowing him in the face, then he avoided a punch, hit another man and dodged again, without stopping.

He liked fighting, he liked the adrenalin flowing in his veins, making him a being who belonged to the night, lethal and elusive. He liked his body moving out of instinct, in a reality made of thuds, screams, sweat and blood, where there wasn't room for thoughts.

“ _Why don't you let yourself go, Dan?”_

He gritted his teeth, looking for another opponent. He had been trying to silence that voice for two weeks, now, fighting against the memories of that night he still hadn't been able to accept.

_Gentle fingers on his face, the same fingers that had caused death for fifteen millions of people._

He punched the last man standing with more strength than it was necessary and he didn't pull back even when he heard the snap of a rib.

_Warmth, kindness, acceptance, a reassuring hug that had made him feel like he wasn't alone in a world where he didn't belong._

It was his instinct that made him let the criminal go to turn around abruptly, but when he realized that one of the men had just pretended to be unconscious it was already too late. With an incredulous gaze, he recognized the handle of the knife sticking out of his own stomach. He wasn't feeling any pain, he wasn't feeling anything at all.

“Die, you fucking bastard!”

The man turned the knife in the wound and the blade pierced deeper into his flesh, accompanied by those words, while the criminal was looking at him with a triumphant grin.

Dan managed to punch him in the temple, a hit strong enough to knock him out. Then the pain arrived, a piercing, red hot agony that had him bend over with a pant, while his stomach seemed like it was trying to escape from his mouth.

He gaped, looking for air even though his lungs weren't functioning anymore, and everything was burning, everything was pain.

He had been stupid, too focused on an unharmed enemy to care about the other criminals. A newbie mistake, unforgivable.

Trying to ignore what was about to do, he grabbed the knife. Then, he pulled it out from his stomach.

Pain flared with a new intensity, blinding him. He felt his blood oozing from the wound, there was a black veil in front of his eyes and for a moment his mind faltered.

_Breathe. Come on! Just breathe._

He blinked, and his sight was so blurred it seemed he didn't have his night goggles on, but he couldn't faint. Even if the police found him before some criminals did, he couldn't expect any leniency: the Keen Act was still effective, even after the destruction of New York, and the chaos of the first few months had lessened, by now, allowing the police forces to reorganize themselves.

He gagged, but he couldn't puke, not with that wound. He struggled to suppress the nausea, then he tried to straighten his back.

The pain was unbearable, but it was nothing foreign. If he managed to arrive home, everything would be okay again. The problem was arriving there.

His costume was already drenched in his blood. He tried to stop the bleeding by pressing his hand on the wound, limping towards the safety of his home. Only his will was keeping him going, an obsessive need to find a safe place. Once in his bathroom, he would try to take care of the wound and in the worst case scenario he would call an hospital pretending to have been assaulted. He knew he could play the role of the shy and unharmed Sam Hollis in a convincing way: an ornithologist who lived in a respectable neighborhood, who could never  _ever_ be associated to Night Owl. It would be easy to pretend that, maybe because it wasn't really a pretending but half of his life.

He muffled a whimper when another wave of pain assaulted all of his nerves.

If Rorschach had been there, none of that would have happened.

Rorschach would have watched his back.

That was why a partner was essential.

He repressed the nostalgia for the past with a grimace, focusing only on the task of keep walking until he finally saw his home.

_Almost there._

He didn't have the lucidity to adopt the usual safety measures, but what was left of his senses gave him the impression of being alone. He could only hope he hadn't been followed.

He entered his house from the back door, he was too hurt and exhausted to use the underground entrance. He had just opened the cabinet in the bathroom to take the medikit, when he heard a rumor at his back.

“Freeze!” an unfamiliar voice ordered, too soon and too close.

He tensed, looking for a moment at the scalpel that was among the first aid supplies, just a few inches away from his fingers.

“Turn around slowly and keep your hands in the air.”

He obeyed only partially, turning to face the stranger but keeping his hands against the wound. He was curios to see the faces of who had been so lucky to find him when he was in a bad shape. There were two of them, both armed, with the guns aiming to his chest. A dangerous situation even if he hadn't been wounded. As hurt as he was, trying to fight would be a suicide.

_Never compromise,_ a hissing voice echoed inside his mind, so low and familiar he almost smiled.

And then he attacked.

 


	2. Chapter 2: Sliding away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for you feedbacks! I really care about this story and every comment or sign of your passage is very welcome. Here it's the second chapter, still unbetaed, but I hope you'll like it. Next one should be better since I found a very patient beta. Next update will be online in a few days, in the meanwhile enjoy your reading and have a good weekend!

**Chapter 2: Sliding away**

 

“Fuck, Davis! We wanted to arrest him, not to shoot him down.”

The kid swallowed and lowered his gun. He had fired three times and now he couldn't divert his eyes from the unmoving body of Nite Owl.

“I... I reacted out of instinct.”

Rick sighed and shook his head.

Davis was a good cop, but he was too young and lacked experience on the field. He had been his partner for two months by now and without having taken part to any actual shootings it wasn't surprising that he had lost his cold blood when the vigilante had attacked him. Even while panicking, he had aimed well, though: all three shots had reached the masked man in the chest.

Rick put his gun back to its holster and gestured Davis to do the same. With three bullets in his chest, not even Nite Owl could survive. If he hadn't died instantly, he would be dead soon.

He took out the radio.

“Here patrol twelve, we just broke into the house of the vigilante known as Nite Owl. The man resisted the arrest and attacked us, forcing us to shoot him down. The address is 221 Baker Street. I need reinforcements and an ambulance, even if I fear they won't be necessary anymore.”

Once the communication was over, he turned to Davis, who was still staring at the body at his feet.

“You think I really killed him?”

There was a note of fear in his voice, and Rick realized that Nite Owl was probably the first death of his carrier.

“Check his pulse.”

He watched him kneeling next to the body, ready to intervene if the vigilante moved, but while Davis' fingers wander on the man's wrist and neck, nothing made him suppose that Nite Owl was something different than a corpse.

Even that kind of anachronistic masked hero was human, after all.

He had first heard about him several years before, when Nite Owl was one among five of six other vigilantes who were acting in New York and he had never understood what pushed those people to defy the night, claiming the power that belonged to cops alone. He could respect their courage, but civilians had no rights to act outside the law. Sure, in the past and in the last few months Nite Owl had helped cleaning the streets from some criminals, but he was still an outlaw himself. And outlaws got arrested.

That was why he hadn't showed any hesitations when he had caught a glimpse of him limping away in an alley. Instead of facing him, he had preferred being cautious, so he had followed him to his house, together with Davis.

In a normal situation he would never break through without reinforcements, especially not while he was with such a young and inexperienced colleague, but he had noticed that Nite Owl was badly hurt, given how much he staggered. That, and the chance of arresting the infamous vigilante had convinced him to act.

He massaged his temples, trying to smother a rising headache.

A great idea, indeed. To follow his ambitions, to follow his instinct... and now he was with a twenty years old partner that maybe had just killed his first suspect and a probably dead vigilante.

“Well?” he asked, when he realized that several seconds had passed without Davis telling him anything.

The kid shrugged.

“I can't feel anything, the costume's too thick,” he replied, then his hands moved from the neck to Nite Owl's cowl.

“What are you doing?” Rick asked him, arching one eyebrow.

The kid gave him a sheepish smile.

“Come on, Rick. Aren't you curios to see his face?”

“Don't be a child. We already caught him, we know where he lives. In a couple of hours, every newscast will show his face and his identity.”

Davis' smile disappeared behind a resented expression.

“You're not funny at all,” he muttered, but pulled back his hand.

What should have been a corpse suddenly sprang into motion. One of his arms hit Davis on the cheekbone, making him fall down, then Nite Owl straddled him with a growl, seeming more like a wounded beast than a human being. The time of two quick punches to the jaw, and Davis stopped moving.

Shocked by the whole thing –  _Nite Owl was dead, how could he be moving now?_ – Rick hesitated a moment of too many. When he managed to pull out his gun, Nite Owl was already on his feet and there was a vase flying towards him. He used his free arm to protect his face and felt a sharp pain the moment the vase went into pieces against his skin. When he opened his eyes again, Nite Owl was already attacking him with an improvised weapon.

_How could he stand, after he had been shot three times at close range?_

He looked at the wooden owl that was just about to hit his head, realizing it was over. While being so close to the most wanted man of New York, he didn't see his eyes, or the expression under the cowl, but only the three holes on his chest, with the final part of the bullets sticking out from the costume.

_Kevlar,_ he realized, just a moment before the heavy wooden owl hit his temple, throwing him into a black abyss.

 

 

He felt cold and the blood kept pouring through his fingers despite the pressure he was applying to the wound.

The pain was excruciating, so intense it made him shiver, a never ending agony that stole his breath away. Yet, his mind was lucid, thoughts as vivid as they could ever be.

He was dying, he knew that already, but waiting for his own death while he was still so aware of it, without having the possibility of doing anything to avoid it, was difficult to accept. He would rather have a quicker death, like what had happened to Rorschach. Someone could thought his friend had been crazy, the media surely did, but to him he was a man worthy of admiration, given his will to follow his principles to his death.

_Not like him._

What a fool. Saving himself from Armageddon, surviving Karnak and Adrian, only to die like that, in an abandoned tunnel of the old subway, killed by some nameless lowlife. No super villains, no epic fights, just a moment of distraction that had cost him too much. But the life of vigilantes wasn't a compassionate one and the mistakes were always payed in the most painful way.

Who knew if someone would miss him, or at least notice he was gone.

The waitress from the coffee bar where he used to have breakfast almost every day, maybe. It would be one less tip, after all. He wanted to believe that Laurie would mourn him, but he wasn't even sure she would ever know he died. Nite Owl's absence could also mean he retired, like he had already done years before.

Adrian would know.

He would probably be the only one, and that was both a consolation and a source of turmoil, because his death wouldn't completely be ignored, but the only one who knew would be the man that had almost shattered his life.

He pursed his lips like he had to face another pang of pain, but he was too weak to repress the memories that in the past two weeks he had refused with all his might.

He still hadn't come to terms with their last meeting. He didn't know what he felt about him anymore – how much he had to hate himself for that night. But he didn't want the only trace of his death to be in Adrian Veidt's thoughts.

With fingers stained with his own blood, he sketched the outline of an owl on the cold wall. Despite his trembling hand, he found it a good work. Adding Rorschach's signature, those two symmetrical 'r' with an ink stain underneath, seemed to him the right completion of his epitaph.

He closed his eyes, fear sliding away together with pain and his own consciousness. There would never be a third Nite Owl, there weren't any boys with passion for owls, lacking social skills and great ideals of heroism in a too childish heart, and maybe it was better that way.

A boy who never desired to become a vigilante had to be a happy boy.

The hand he had kept pressed against his wound fall lifelessly to the ground, but the shadow of a smiled flickered on his lips.

_Here dies Nite Owl._

 


	3. Chapter 3: Awakening

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This time the chapter is betaed, huge thanks to Lucky_Lucy for her help. I don't know if I'll be able to update next week, since I'll be away from home, but I'll post the new chapter as soon as I can. Thank you for your feedbacks and merry Christmas if you celebrate it!

**Chapter 3: Awakening**

 

“Last minute news: the masked vigilante known as Nite Owl, now identified as Sam Hollis, was surprised by two agents that followed him up to his house. Hollis, who was already wounded from a previous scuffle against some criminals, managed to escape after assaulting the two agents, who only reported some minor wounds. Now a Special Force team is still patrolling the area, looking for his hideout. The Police hope to arrest him but say it now appears more likely they will just retrieve his body, since the agents reported his condition to be very bad and everything on the scene suggests a significant blood loss...”

 

There were only a couple hundred people watching the news at that unholy hour, before dawn. Barely a half of them were actually paying attention to it. Among those, only a few had associated the report to the masked vigilante with the black costume and the cape that had been patrolling the city at night for the last months. And only two of them knew that his real name wasn't Sam Hollis.

 

 

 

_He immediately knew that he wasn't lying on his bed._

_There was a linger warm sensation just an inch from his body that whispered about a night for once not in loneliness, there was the scent of another person in the bedsheets, familiar and foreign at the same time, and even as drowsy as he was, he was suddenly, creepily aware of being naked._

_He opened his eyes, blinking a couple of times to make them adjust to the light in the room. Even without glasses he recognized the looks of an expensive hotel room, with purple curtains and a purple blanket. He sat up, lowering his eyes. The cushion was of the same color and with all that purple surrounding him he remembered everything._

_He tensed, forgetting how to breathe – he wasn't able to breathe anymore, now that he was drowning in the knowledge of what had happened._

_Then everything disappeared._

_His glasses were on the bedside table and he put them on hurriedly, trying to ignore his weakness, his horror, his nausea – there was blood on his hands and on the sheets – because he needed to disappear. Even if he was alone in the room, he could hear the shower in the bathroom nearby, too real a sign of where the man he had spent the night with was._

_His throat felt constricted at that thought._

_He had to go without being seen, before he met Adrian's eyes, before facing what he wasn't ready to face. At home, while busy working on Archie, screwdriver in hand, or outside, while patrolling the streets as Nite Owl, maybe he would be able to analyze last night without hoping he could cut his own head open and throw those memories away – and maybe even a considerable part of his life too._

_He stood up and immediately he felt a stab of pain at his wounded leg. With a glance he reassured himself that the wound was still closed, all the stitches still holding, and then a low throb made him focus his attention on his scraped knuckles. He brushed them with his thumb, feeling the dried blood. They hurt, in a familiar way that reminded him of his first years as a vigilante, when he happened to find himself in a brawl without the right protections or when he trained with Rorschach barehanded. And if he was feeling the consequences of his own punches, Adrian had to feel worse... provided he was able to feel pain at all._

_He rejected that thought before he could understand if it made him feel more amused or nauseated. He put on his clothes, instead, trying to not make a noise._

“ _If you would like to have a shower, there are clean towels in the bathroom,” a voice from behind his back commented, freezing him on the spot._

_With his heart hammering in his chest and the silent prayer to suddenly vanish from sight echoing in his mind, Dan forced himself to turn around. Adrian stood at a safe distance, if there even was one. He was naked, expect for the towel around his hips, and his hair was still wet and messier than he had even seen it. His face was bruised, as were his wrists and neck, and Dan tried not to focus on the consequences of his rage. His expression was that unreadable mask that gave Dan the impression he was being studied like he was an experiment, two shards of blue that caught everything and let nothing transpire._

_When he realized Adrian was still waiting for an answer, he shook his head._

_He felt sticky and covered in sweat. In any other situation, he would have gladly accepted the offer of a shower, but even the thought of spending any more time in Ozymandias' presence made him feel like he couldn't breathe. He needed to return home, in a safe, familiar place, where he could lick this last wound and discover how deep it was._

_He swallowed, unable to meet the eyes of a man he once thought a friend and that he didn't know how to classify now. And what was he, to Adrian? A new toy? The parody of a superhero that was even more pathetic for its inability to rebel? A whore with whom he could spend a night?_

_He felt his cheeks sting because of the shame, while he tried to muffle those thoughts, in vain. Despite his fingers being clumsier than usual, he had finished buttoning up his shirt by now and his jacket was already in his hands, but he still couldn't make himself wear it. The silence was crushing him and he was increasingly aware of the eyes focused on his face as seconds passed by._

_Even when he strengthened his grip on the jacket, careful to keep the pocket where Rorschach's journal was upright, he stood still, unable to move, because he felt that if he only took a step towards the door, Adrian would be upon him in the blink of an eye to drag him into another bottomless pit, while he was still struggling to reemerge from the last one._

_He fisted his hands when he saw him come closer. Without really invading his personal space, Adrian placed one hand on his shoulder, a touch no more intimate than one exchanged between two colleagues – between two partners. And yet the contact with his hand renewed the internal struggle between the part of him which was horrified by the confidence and the closeness he had with a hated assassin, and the one which was too weak to refuse the touch and the understanding of one of the very few people who knew the lie that kept the word in peace._

“ _Adrian,” he swallowed with difficulty, a thousand different words stuck in his throat, while he watched the red, evident bruises on that pale skin. His gaze was impossible to meet, those unreadable blue eyes that had managed to hide his horrifying plan for whole years all the while looking at him with the gentleness that had marked their friendship._

_(I'm sorry. I hate you. I didn't want to do that. Why did you do that to me? You should die. What is wrong with me?)_

_Maybe Adrian understood, because he didn't ask him anything, only left his own name echo in the silence, demanded nothing else. He only strengthened his grip for a moment, and it was not a threat, before softening his expression._

“ _Dan,” he hesitated, like the great Ozymandias was unsure of which words to pronounce. A moment later he let him go. “Take care of yourself.”_

_Dan nodded, more out of instinct than anything._

_And then he was free to escape, far away from him and from that night that, he already knew it, would haunt him for the next days._

_That night when he had finally managed to sleep._

 

 

 

Pain. It was the only thing he felt, as vivid as the world was when he saw it through Nite Owl's goggles. Every single inch of his body was burning: his chest, with every difficult breath he took; his abdomen the source of his agony; his limbs; his head.

To open his eyes felt like allowing the painful throb that was already torturing his temples to pierce his head from side to side.

For a terrifying moment he didn't see anything, only the black veil made of pain and dizziness that surrounded him like a shroud. He blinked, and then one single image got embedded on his retina: golden strands, an ageless face, two blue shards that had been both horror and consolation of his past nights. He curved his lips into a bitter smile, or maybe he only tried to.

“I knew I would go to hell,” he murmured, with what little breath he had left.

Then darkness swallowed him whole.

 


	4. Chapter 4: Delirium

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update, I had some busy holidays plus my router decided to die on me. Thank you for the kudos and many thanks to Lucky_Lucy, who had the patience to correct this chapter! Enjoy your reading^^

**Chapter 4: Delirium**

 

He was weightless, while he floated in an invisible place where thoughts had no meaning, but he still existed. He hadn't noticed it immediately; it was an awareness that had grown in him fragment after fragment, when glimpses of thoughts reached him through the dark shroud that enveloped his consciousness. And during those moments, suspended between sleep and wakefulness, he wondered how much of what went through his head was real.

Sometimes he had brief moments of lucidity, when pain assaulted his nerves with such violence that he regretted not being unconscious anymore; it hurt when he tried to move, it hurt to rebel against the weakness that was clouding his mind, it hurt to breathe. But he still fought, because those perceptions proved that his identity hadn't been swallowed by darkness yet. Other times he only felt pain as his body was burning from the fever and the only thing he was aware of was agony. And then there were the times when his weakness muffled any other sensations, leaving him too exhausted to attempt to move or open his eyes. And he could always feel someone at his side, a reassuring presence that didn't give him any danger vibes.

_Rorschach._

It was the name that he associated to the warm knowledge of being safe, of having someone watch his back without even needing to ask for it. If for New York Rorschach had been a dangerous psychopath to be feared and jailed, the Terror of the Underworld whom no one dared to face but everyone hated, for him he had been the most important person in his adult life, together with Hollis. As strange and difficult as relating to him could be, Rorschach still was a precious partner with unshakable loyalty. He was the safety of a friend, someone Dan had entrust his life to every night since they had started patrolling together.

It had happened by chance, on a night when the bunch of criminals he was fighting had called for reinforcements. In a few moments, his probability of coming out of it alive from it had become very low and he had realized how foolish and dangerous his dream of playing the masked hero was, how absurd his hopes had been – to remain alive while following a fantasy that should have belonged to a child, not to an adult man. Not even in that moment he had regretted it, though, not even when his blood had flooded his mouth and he had been too hurt and dizzy to avoid the hits.

Then, without any warnings, a man in raincoat and fedora had come to his aid, darting among the criminals like he was a shadow born from night herself. The mask covering his face, when the man had turned to face him, resembled a dark, moving skull in a white background.

He was shorter than Dan had imagined, but he had realized immediately who his unexpected savior was: everyone knew Rorschach, even if the few who met him usually ended up in jail or in the hospital.

There had been no need for talk, they had just found themselves back to back and after a few minutes they had been the only ones who were still conscious.

Only then Dan had allowed himself to slide down to the ground, panting and aching everywhere, now that the adrenalin was fading away. His eyes had never left his savior, though, and as soon as he had regained his breath and assured himself he had all his bones in their place, he had smiled.

“ _Thanks for your help.”_

Rorschach had continued tying up the criminals, ignoring both his smile and his words.

“ _It's not bad to have someone who has your back. We could patrol together, next night, what do you think?”_ Dan had asked him, trying to get a reaction from him.

Rorschach had turned his back to him without even sparing him a glance.

“ _Humpf,”_ had been his only answer while walking away. But he hadn't said no and the following night Dan had found the mysterious vigilante waiting for him in that exact spot.

A month later, patrolling together had become a habit.

A year later, Rorschach had started ransacking his house for food.

Two years later, Dan had managed to convince him to stay for the night when when the wounds and the exhaustion were too much even for the most implacable vigilante of New York.

Then one day, while he was shopping choosing Rorschach's favorite food like it was the most normal thing to do, while he was whistling remembering the last fight in which they had managed to knock off a whole gang of fifteen people without suffering any serious injuries, he had realized that it didn't matter if he didn't know his name or his face: his partner – his friend – was the person he trusted the most in the whole world.

The only one who could give him a sense of complete safety.

Now, however, Rorschach was no more.

_A red stain in the snow, the fedora gliding towards the ground as his only remains, the echo of a scream he hadn't even realized he had released, while desperation tore his chest apart in a more painful way than Adrian's collected revelation of their failure as heroes had done._

Rorschach had died because of Adrian. Because of Jon. Because of him, since he had failed again –  _a flabby failure who sits whimpering in his basement._

He hadn't been able to save fifteen millions people.

He hadn't even been able to save the one who had been his best friend.

“ _You have never had the world's fate in your hand, Dan. Nor have you had Rorschach's. Believing otherwise is just self-destructive arrogance.”_

How much worth could the absolution coming from an assassin retain?

But it didn't really matter, because since Adrian had said those words he had been feeling less guilty. Despite the turmoil still whirling in his chest, he had stopped having nightmares every night, had even managed to sleep without waking up with his throat so dry he wasn't even able to swallow and his back drenched in cold sweat. The images of Rorschach's death, of the destruction of New York and of Ozymandias laughing next to a pile of corpses had visited him less often and if he had to be honest with himself, the one with Ozymandias hadn't visited him at all. He had had a different kind of nightmare, instead, one when he relived the night spent in his company. It was a strange one, not always unpleasant, that truly became a nightmare only when he opened his eyes in the dark and his mind recalled the horror that hadn't been in the dream.

Only once had he woke up screaming, feeling blood on his hands and a last pulse under his fingers. A dream where he was straddling Adrian like in the hotel room, but instead of stopping he kept hitting him with increasing violence, reducing his face to a bloody pulp, before closing his hand around his neck and strengthening his grip until the light disappeared from Adrian's eyes.

The horror he had felt when he had woken up had tormented him for days, like he had really assassinated his former friend with his bare hands.  _And Adrian would let him, he hadn't even tried to defend himself, Adrian would have died for real if he hadn't stopped._

He knew he should kill him, he knew it even if he didn't remember the reason, but the image of Adrian's bloodied face and his sad eyes that had focused on his own without any resentment made it impossible for him to breathe.

He tried to move his body, but he was so dizzy and everything was so confused that he wouldn't be surprised to find out he had been reduced to pure mind, with no nerves, flesh or bone anymore.

And now he wasn't able to discern between reality and illusion anymore, he didn't know where he was and his body was burning, he was suffocating, his eyelids were glued together but he desperately wanted to break the veil that was clouding his mind and to stop drowning in the darkness...

He opened his eyes.

The daze that had enveloped his thoughts and sight dissolved, now only his nearsightedness prevented him from putting details into focus, but he didn't need his glasses to recognize the man who sat beside the bed; the same man he had perceived by his side in the few glimpses of lucidity during his delirium and that now seemed to be smiling at him.

“You are not dead, Dan.”

 


	5. Chapter 5: Still alive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry for the delay of this update, but I wanted to be sure it was readable. I hope you'll like it. Thank you so much for the comments, they were so many, especially for this fandom, and they really made my day :)
> 
> Huge thanks also go to my beta Lucky_Lucy, who really helped me a great deal.

**Chapter 5: Still alive**

 

“You're not dead, Dan.”

Evan before he managed to bring his face into focus, the voice revealed the identity of the man at his side: that calm, collected voice devoid of inflections had echoed in his mind more times than he was willing to admit during the previous weeks. He blinked, staring at the figure next to his bed.

Adrian was slightly hunched towards him, in what was probably more a product of gentle consideration for his myopia rather than a sign of worry for his condition. Only after a moment did Dan realize he didn't have his Nite Owl suit on anymore, nor did he have his goggles; and to emphasize his vulnerability, he wasn't wearing any clothes aside from his boxers, the only shield he had left under the sheet.

He barely repressed the urge to move and show his discomfort. The pain that had accompanied his deliriums was still there, but his mind was more lucid, now, and he knew why Adrian had undressed him. He gave the room a quick glance, following the survival instinct that pushed him to retrieve as much information as he could, despite knowing he was in too bad shape to do anything different from lying down on the mattress. Through the veil clouding his sight, he managed to catch glimpses of a bare environment with white walls, some basic furniture and a desk full of objects which were too far away for him to recognize. He saw two doors, one closed and one half open, but no windows, a detail that made him tense. The light stab at his left hand made him lower his gaze. There was an IV attached to his arm and yet he was sure he wasn't in a hospital. It seemed a common room that was being used as an infirmary.

After searching in vain for anything familiar-looking, he brought his attention back to Adrian.

“Where am I?” he murmured, flinching from how rough his own voice sounded. It felt like he had glass shards stuck in his throat.

The man –  _the friend? The lover? The enemy?_ – stood up and for a moment Dan thought that he would simply leave without a word, leave him in a foreign place, to face his solitude and doubts alone. Instead, he disappeared behind the half open door, from where after a moment came the sound of a stream of water. When Adrian returned, he was carrying a glass full of water.

“You are safe. Underground in one of my buildings.” He offered him the glass, close enough that he could help him drink in case Dan hadn't been able to do it on his own.

With a grimace, Dan managed to stretch out an arm to grab the glass, but he had to give up on the attempt to lift his torso, because at his first try pain exploded in his chest and abdomen, with two particularly vicious stabs just under the heart and next to his bellybutton. He still had to regain his breath when Adrian came closer and helped him to lift his head, and that maybe was a good thing, because he didn't have the lucidity to notice the intimacy of that contact too much.

Only after emptying the glass did he realize how thirsty he was. The fresh water soothing his dry throat was a splendid sensation but it also awoke his need for more of it. Adrian let him lay his head down onto the pillow, he didn't however let go of the glass.

“Another?”

Dan nodded, waiting for him to disappear in the what had to be the bathroom and then to return, while his pain lessened, becoming a more bearable throb, and his brain started functioning again.

He drank the second glass of water pretending he didn't remember the last time Adrian had been so close to him, diverting his eyes from the billionaire's face to focus them on the wall.

He was still dizzy, maybe because of some kind of painkiller, maybe because of the fever. The latter was more likely, judging from how well he could feel pain, but he wasn't as terribly weak as when he had thought he was going to die. He cautiously prodded at his own torso, where everything had become pain at his first attempt to move. There were two distinct bandages, a thinner one that covered a small portion of his chest and a thicker one that covered the wound on his abdomen.

Part of him was impatient to know why he was there, with the man he never expected to see again at his side, but there was still time to ask about that and the instinct born from his years as a vigilante had other priorities.

“How bad is it?”

Adrian sat down again and crossed his legs.

“Quite bad, even if your life is not in danger anymore. The knife pierced your intestine and caused an internal bleeding and the beginning of an infection, but now everything is under control.”

He was talking in a reassuring voice, however Dan felt a cold shiver run down his spine. Internal bleeding meant damage to his internal organs, it meant that something important had been compromised; it meant that maybe he wouldn't heal completely.

“You have a couple of cracked ribs, one might actually be broken, due to the bullets' impact against your body,” Adrian continued, eyes focused on his face like he was looking for something. “I guess that was the work of the policemen who found you.”

Dan nodded out of instinct, his head too heavy for the number of terrified thoughts spinning in it. That explained the pain in his chest, then, and luckily there was no heart- or lung-damage.

“The blood loss has been considerable, you needed several blood transfusions and you are still running a fever, but I can assure you that the worst is over and your wound will heal without any problems.” Adrian let out the shadow of a smile and Dan, with his short-sightedness, couldn't say whether it was fake or sincere. “You should recover completely, without any permanent damages.”

Dan exhaled what little air he hadn't realized he was holding, feeling only relief. It didn't matter how long it would take for him to heal, how painful his recovery would be, because, after having been sure he would die the mere thought that he would be as well as he had been before, have a perfectly functioning body again, was enough to overwhelm him, annihilating every thought of pain or anxiety.

“How long have I been unconscious?” he asked, as soon as he was sure he could talk without his voice breaking. Suddenly he was exhausted, like the fear for his physical condition had drained all of his energy.

“Five days. I had to keep you in a medically induced coma for the last two days, to prevent you from hurting yourself while you were delirious.”

Five days.

Enough time to search his house, to find the underground tunnel of the abandoned subway, to discover Archie.

The thought that the Police had probably seized it hurt him more than the stab wound, but he was too weak and dizzy to come out with a plan and even to ask Adrian for information. Now his head was spinning and exhaustion made even thinking too difficult a task.

He looked at him in silence, fighting against the tiredness and himself, and then he collected enough courage for the question that was lingering among his thoughts since he had recognized him. A question difficult to give voice of, both because of the humiliation and the fear for an answer, but he was too helpless and vulnerable, he needed any information and the illusion of control over his own destiny too much, not to ask him.

“Why did you save me?”

Adrian met his eyes like he had been expecting that question for several minutes now, his still unreadable face showing no emotions.

“Because your survival doesn't hurt me,” he replied, with the detached voice that he had always directed to the journalists, even if he was still talking with his German accent. And Dan knew it wasn't an actual answer, but exhaustion had seeped through his mind.

“Adrian...” he weakly protested, his own question still echoing in his mind, because he knew it was important and he needed to understand what his former friend was thinking. But his body was too hurt to allow him to stay awake any longer. While he was still trying to put those blue eyes into focus, his eyelids slid shut close against his will and he fell in a deep slumber.

 


	6. Chapter 6: Meeting a hero

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry for the long silence. I thought I would have been able to update more frequently, but life interfered and now I have less free time than I wanted. I'm still going to publish all the chapters of this story, just not as fast as I hoped.
> 
> Thank you very much for your feedbacks, I love your comments and they're the reason I tried to update as soon as I could. Also I want to thank my beta Lucky_Lucy for her help and corrections.
> 
> Enjoy your reading and have a good weekend!

**Chapter 6: Meeting a hero**

 

Adrian kept his eyes on the unconscious vigilante until he was sure Dan was soundly asleep. Only then did he stand up from the chair and check the IV to see if it would last for the time he was going to be away. His unexpected patient was stable, now, after a couple of hellish days when he had feared he would have seen him die under his hands, as one of the so very few failures that had dared to cross his path; but he was Adrian Veidt, he was Ozymandias and the new Alexander the Great, failure simply wasn't contemplated. Even his most important plan had ended as he had predicted and in the end Dan had resigned himself to become another one of his successes.

Without sparing him another glance, Adrian took the empty glass, washed it in the sink and then filled it by half before placing it back on the bedside table. He returned to the bathroom to clean what was left of the evidence, so he put the empty package of sedatives into his pocket, ignoring the trashcan under the sink. Dan was supposed to sleep for the following five hours, but there was a tiny possibility that he would wake up and discover the package, which would make him less incline to cooperate.

His tired gaze shifted towards his watch. A quarter past eight. He had a half hour to return to his tower, have a rapid debrief with his secretary and to face the first appointment of the day.

He massaged his temples to fight against the exhaustion that had started to wear out against his will. Then he straightened his back, putting on his impassible mask, and exited from the little underground apartment where Ozymandias had been born.

 

 

 

He thought he would have to wait for at least an hour, maybe two. It only took ten minutes, instead, before the charming, impeccable secretary invited him to the office of the most powerful man in the world; too little time for him to find the composure he needed for that meeting. While he walked through the door with an unsure step that he had never used in the second half of his life, he felt like he was a kid working his first day as a policeman, instead of David Ross, the esteemed Chief of Police of twenty years, who was used to bark orders to his men and to manage everything with an iron fist.

“Good morning, mister Veidt. I hope I haven't bothered you,” he greeted him, with the sudden, absurd urge to take an imaginary hat off. But in front of him stood the man who had rebuilt New York almost with his own resources alone; the peace between USA and the Soviet Union had been signed in his presence and he had supported it ever since, accomplishing some diplomatic tasks without stepping outside the boundaries of his role as a civilian. There had been several occasions in which he had been asked to run for Presidency, or to take a more preeminent role in the political life of New York, but Veidt had always refused. David remembered seeing him help soon after Manhattan's attack, digging through the debris, offering money and effort and sweat without even allowing himself to rest, and he was surprise by his lack of arrogance, since he was the man who could have the world in his own hands.

The billionaire flashed him the same white and trustworthy smile that David had seen hundreds of times on the magazines, while pointing to one of the armchairs next to him.

“No bother at all. To what do I owe your visit, Chief Ross?”

David sat down, still a little tense, but Veidt's courtesy was making his awkwardness disappear, replaced by calm admiration.

“I wanted to thank you for your help.”

Veidt dismissed his words with a wave of his hand.

“Even if I haven't kept in touch with Nite Owl after I retired, he is still a colleague with whom I enjoyed working. It is my intention to offer all the help I can to find him alive and convince him to turn himself in.”

David nodded, even if he still felt he needed to express his gratitude. The men Adrian Veidt had offered the Police had hastened the investigation and thanks to them the attack from a few days before hadn't had casualties. He almost shivered at the thought of how many dead people he would have had to count if a Veidt security guard hadn't noticed the bomb and managed to evacuate the area before the explosion.

David still hadn't identified the culprit, even if it was probably some crazy Nite Owl fan, but at least his squad was unharmed and luckily the bomb had been placed where it hadn't caused catastrophic damage. There had been some repercussions in the underground area, which still hadn't been investigated, but Hollis' house had remained in one piece and, after a few days of interruptions, the searching for the vigilante's corpse had started again, with more determination than before.

“What else did you want to talk about, Chief Ross?”

David focused his attention back on Veidt, forcing his left hand to remain still instead of caressing his beard, a nervous habit he hadn't managed to completely let go. Now that they had exchanged some pleasantries, he couldn't hesitate any longer. He moistened his lips, while looking for the best way to introduce an unpleasant subject to the conversation.

“This afternoon I'm going to attend a press conference with some journalists that are following the case and I know they're the same who have scheduled an interview with you,” he started, after he decided to speak clearly.

There were some people who, despite his behavior, accused Veidt of being a man hungry for fame, but he hoped the billionaire could realize the severity of the situation.

“I wanted to ask you to be discrete about the investigation,” he continued, noticing the way Veidt was frowning. “If the media knew we're using private agents, who moreover have been hired by an ex vigilante and Nite Owl's former companion, there could be some bad consequences, for the both of us.”

Not that he truly thought he could scare him that way: Veidt was too loved, his image as New York savior wouldn't be ruined so easily; however he too had detractors, someone ready to plant the seed of a scandal at the first occasion, and the Police, who wasn't as much appreciated, didn't have his immunity.

“I can understand,” the billionaire answered, without giving away anything.

“Can I count on your discretion, then?”

The impassible mask on Veidt's face dissolved into a smile.

“Of course.”

Feeling relieved to have obtained the cooperation he wanted, he was about to stand and take his leave, when Veidt placed his elbows on the desk and interlaced the fingers of his hands together, looking at him with an attention that showed how their meeting wasn't over yet.

“May I ask you how the investigation is going, or would it cross some boundaries?”

It was a rhetorical question, given how many boundaries had already been crossed since David had accepted the billionaire's help in the case. Nonetheless, he appreciated the fact that he was politely asking instead of demanding.

“There's nothing new to say. Hollis seems to have disappeared and the lack of a body leaves us with the suspicion that he's still alive. Knowing his identity, though, it won't be too difficult to find his traces, would he resurface somewhere.”

Another barely perceivable nod.

“We just have to hope you are right, then.”

The strange tone of his comment, more personal and different than the usual, pushed David to take a better look at the billionaire.

“Don't you agree with that?”

For a moment Veidt seemed to hesitate, in a glimpse of humanity that surprised him; then he shook his head.

“I would never interfere with a matter that pertains to the Police. I would regret putting a seed of a doubt where it wasn't needed; I may just be too suspicious.”

“No, please, tell me,” David asked, before he could process his own words.

Veidt sighed, staring at his hands before lifting his eyes to face him, his stare so full of determination it made how he had managed to create his empire from nothing very clear.

“Chief Ross, are you sure Nite Owl and Sam Hollis are the same person?”

He frowned, dumbfounded. Of all the comments he could expected... The doubt of the vigilante's real identity wasn't even on the list.

“How could they not be? The house where we took him by surprise was owned by Hollis,” he replied, a little disappointed.

Veidt leaned back against the backrest of his armchair.

“It doesn't prove that Nite Owl was its rightful owner.”

“A house that Nite Owl entered without needing to break into? A house full of owls decorations and ornaments?” he asked, in disbelief, since Veidt was refusing the obvious.

“It wouldn't be the first case of a civilian who has an infatuation towards a vigilante and who's ready to do anything to support him. I had the occasion to meet a few fans of mine myself,” Veidt replied with an indulgent smile. “And some of them even possessed a quite accurate replica of my costume.”

David's skepticism disappeared in a glimpse of understanding.

“You're suggesting that Hollis could be a Nite Owl supporter?”

“Exactly.”

David shook his head, wondering if Veidt's famous smartness was the reason he was looking for the most complicated explanation, refusing the simplest one.

“I don't want to be rude, but don't you think this would be a bit of a stretch?”

“I am just taking into consideration every possible hypothesis,” the billionaire replied. “I heard that no one was able to look at Nite Owl's face, so no one knows what he looks like under his mask.”

“This is true, but all the evidence is aiming at Hollis.” Had he been talking with anyone else, David would have laughed in his face, but Veidt wasn't a fool. He half closed his eyelids while staring at him like he could read his thoughts. “Why are you not convinced?”

“Because I don't think a problem is solved until I find an explanation to each tiniest detail. I understand your reasoning, but I find it suspicious that you haven't found any clues about his double life in Hollis' house.”

Meeting the billionaire's blue eyes, David realized he didn't know what to reply.

Nite Owl was famous for his technological gadgets and his ability as an inventor, and yet there was nothing like a lab in Hollis' house. Even his toolbox was totally average. He hadn't found any clue of an activity as a vigilante: no weapons, no handcuffs, no costume, no equipment; only a lot of books about ornithology, several owlish statues and a fridge which proved that his owner preferred buying food to cooking it. Among the little food he had found, there had even been a couple of surprising cans of beans.

Now that he thought about it, Hollis psychic profile didn't seem to correspond to a man who was an athletic and self-confident vigilante, brave enough to face whole gangs of criminals by himself and good enough to survive: the waitress of the coffee shop where Hollis used to have breakfast, one of the few people to have known him, had described him as a shy, anonymous man, with the typical appearances of a librarian, with thick glasses and the awkwardness of those people who felt out of place in every situation.

And there wasn't even the smallest trace of his strange flying ship, or of a place where he could have kept it.

David sighed.

They were tiny details with clashed against his hypothesis. Since they were so little, he had never lingered on them, but now that he was examining them one by one he felt a sense of discomfort crawl along his spine. That case had seemed so easy and clear... and now he found himself forced to admit that there was something amiss.

“And where the hell is Hollis, then?” he barked, immediately regretting how rude he had sounded.

Before he could apologize, Veidt smiled.

“You wouldn't happen to have an interest in ornithology, would you?”

“No, why?”

“This is the month when the _Asio flemmeus_ , a particular specie of owl that lives in the swamps, nests. Considering his hobbies, I wouldn't be surprised if Hollis was camping somewhere several miles away from here.”

Plausible but unlikely. He didn't even consider it twice.

“Wouldn't it be too much of a coincidence?” he commented, struggling to refrain from sounding too rough, like he was talking to his men.

The billionaire still showed that patient smile that David didn't know how to interpret.

“From your point of view, it would be indeed.”

“And from yours?”

“It depends on how you consider the facts: you think that Nite Owl going to Hollis' house when Hollis is away would be a coincidence. But, if you take the hypothesis of them being two different people for granted, I think that Hollis' absence would have been what prompted Nite Owl to look for safety in his house.”

David allowed himself to reflect in silence for a moment.

“We didn't think of that,” he finally said, but it made sense, more than he would have liked to admit.

He passed his hand through his hair, feeling tired just thinking he had to study the case from another perspective, but he wasn't resenting the billionaire.

The smartest man in the world, the media called him, and for once it didn't seem they had exaggerated. He stood up; even if he would have wanted to talk to him more, to listen to his opinion about every detail of the case, he knew he had already taken advantage of his patience. He was surprised that their meeting had lasted for so long, since he expected to be dismissed in a few minutes: a man of Veidt's position must have been terribly busy, maybe too much, given the tiredness that flickered through his kind expression.

He stretched his right hand over the desk.

“Thank you for your time.”

The billionaire stood up too and shook it, an iron grip reminding David that, behind the neat look of a public persona who seemed to maybe care too much for his appearances, was a man of action, someone who had been patrolling the streets of New York for years.

“You're welcome.”

He felt Veidt's stare on his back while the secretary accompanied him to the door. Veidt was more than he expected. He would have liked to have such an admirable mind in the Police, but at the same time he knew he would be wasted as a detective. The billionaire had made quite an impression and David had liked him immediately: a man without any hesitations, who seemed to always be in control but, at the same time, didn't show off. Instead of being a detached, powerful man who only cared about his own interests, he used his resources to help in any way he could.

He smiled while a childish thought crossed his mind, but if heroes had really existed he was sure that Veidt would have been one of them.

 


	7. Chapter 7: Anger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really, really sorry for the delay, both my beta and I were super busy, so I wasn't able to update until now. I hope the chapter will make up at least a little for this too long wait.  
> Thank you so much for your comments, they made my day and it's so great to know that there are people reading my story (and liking it!) even in a fandom which is not very populated. Special thanks to my beta Lucky_Lucy for her help <3

**Chapter 7: Anger**

 

He woke up with an insidious thought slid ing into his consciousness. While he was asleep, he had had a faraway intuition that something wasn't right. Like a false note in a melody, or a wrong detail in a huge picture he hadn't been able to put into focus yet. He knew it was important, he knew he was supposed to investigate it even before opening his eyes, but his mind was disconnected from reality, he was so dizzy his survival instinct kicked in immediately: even when he had been seriously wounded, he had always answered the call of adrenaline flowing in his veins, he was used to his mind being lucid and rational and to ignore the pain so that he could still be vigilant, ready to defend himself or to run, because, as Nite Owl, he couldn't allow himself to show any weakness. Now, thought, despite not running a fever anymore, he felt like his head was full of fog.

“How are you feeling?”

He turned his attention towards Adrian, who sat on the same chair of the previous time, like he hadn't moved at all. Dan remembered he had always been there when he had briefly regained his senses during the delirium.

“Bad,” he murmured, trying to completely wake up. “But I've been worse.”

Like the time he had been too slow and the criminal he was facing had hit him with a chain, breaking two of his ribs and making him unable to breathe or to react for a couple of minutes. Or when he had fought against too many opponents who managed to break his nose and left arm, and his horrified eyes had caught a glimpse of his ulna and radius piercing through his skin. But in both of those occasions, Rorschach had been there to help him, a solid, comforting presence that had made him sure everything would be fine, in the end. Now, however, he was in a foreign place and his savior was maybe the last person he could trust in the entire world.

“Are you thirsty?”

Adrian had already a half full glass in his hand, adopting the usual caring behavior that had characterized his Ozymandias persona; it was a curios oxymoron, coming from the man who had killed fifteen millions of people without any hesitations.

“Yes, thank you.”

He stretched his hand towards the glass, feeling like he had regained a little strength in comparison to the last time he had woken up, but the simple attempt of propping up on his elbow had pain flare in his chest and abdomen. He muffled a moan but refused to give up so easily, sweating and struggling against his own weakness.

Having to depend on someone else even for something as basic as drinking was too humiliating. Adrian had to guess his thoughts, since he didn't say a word while arranging the pillow so that he could use it to support his back and helping him to sit up.

Dan thanked him with a curt nod, drank by himself and gave him the empty glass back. His hand went to prod at his bandaged belly. The gauze was clean, so his improvised doctor must have changed it while he was asleep. A sudden spurt of shame threatened to redden his face at the realization of such an intimate contact between them. Luckily, a familiar, rumbling sound shifted his attention from that unwelcome thought to his empty stomach before his mind had to focus on the night they had spent together. Dan lifted his head to meet Adrian's impassible blue eyes.

“Do you think I could have something to eat?”

He had a sudden craving for some unhealthy junk food, especially for some of the ready-made meals that had been part of his routine before and after his story with Laurie. He had the feeling he wouldn't be able to satisfy that desire soon, thought.

“If you are hungry, I can cook a light meal,” Adrian replied, crushing his hopes as he had expected.

Food was food anyway, so Dan nodded. He took advantage of Adrian's brief absence to check his body: the left part of his chest, next to his heart, ached at every breath. It was where he had been shot and he had to thank the Kevlar in his costume if he was still alive, because the cop he had attacked had aimed even too well. He tried to take a deep breath and pain flared up in his whole torso, but it was still bearable and familiar enough to not be frightening. Broken or cracked ribs were nothing new to him and if that had been his only problem, he would have been able to stand and even to walk without any difficulties.

His fingers lingered on the heart for a moment, then went lower, until they reached his belly. They carefully prodded the wound there, through the bandages, and Dan couldn't hide a grimace. The wound hurt, it was the most intense source of his pain and the reason his abdomen and close leg ached in a terrible way at his tiniest movement. He knew he would have to remain in bed for at least a couple of days more.

He almost sighed. To be in a foreign flat, with Adrian as his only companion... it made him uncomfortable to say the least.

When he saw the billionaire return with what seemed a bowl of sou p, he forgot everything aside from his hunger. The food smelled delicious and his stomach rumbled again; despite his craving for junk food, it seemed like his body was more than happy to eat anything available, so he accepted the bowl with an awkward smile and immediately dove the spoon in.

The soup was great, light but tasty, and again Adrian managed to surprise him, revealing himself as a good cook. Maybe there was nothing that Ozymandias wasn't good at.

_Except being human._

Dan dismissed that thought that lingered between irony and irritation in the blink of an eye.

He had a thousand questions bugging his mind, but his priority was regaining his strength, at least a little. It was the fundamental rule of the life as a vigilante, something that wasn't written anywhere but that he'd had to learn on the field, wound after wound: when he was in a dangerous situation, the most important thing was to be in good enough shape to defend himself, or at least to move, to reach a safe place; everything else could wait. After Karnak and the discovery of that side of Adrian he hadn't even imagined existing, there was a very high chance that he was in a  _terribly_ dangerous situation.

While he was eating, refusing to acknowledge the eyes that his former friend kept focused on him, his mind started to clear.

Again he was hit by the feeling that there was something wrong. When he had woken up, he had opened his eyes, but it had been like emerging from a thick swamp; even when he had regained his consciousness the time before, between relief and confusion, he hadn't been able to make the fog clouding his mind disappear. He had barely had the time to drink a glass of water before turning unconscious again.

_Just one glass._

And then his head had become heavy, so heavy he hadn't been able to keep his eyes open.

He gave the empty bowl back to Adrian without breathing.

Adrian, who was always vigil and present, despite having his economical empire to lead. Despite being deep down human himself, and as such needing to sleep, eat and rest. Adrian, who had managed to reach the tunnel where Dan had resigned himself to die, just before he actually did.

The realization pierced his mind like a blade, another betrayal from someone he didn't even trust anymore.

He looked at his composed face while Adrian was putting the empty bowl on the bedside table, and again Dan felt something twisting inside his chest.

“Since when have you been drugging me?”

“Since you started regaining your senses,” Adrian replied with utter calm.

He hadn't even lowered his gaze and Dan closed his fingers into fists, hating the fact that he was too wounded to attack him.

“Can I at least know why?” he asked, while struggling to keep his voice leveled and not give in to the urge to punch him.

Adrian met his gaze without faltering.

“I didn't want you to wake up alone and risk doing something unwise due to the understandable panic of finding yourself in a foreign place,” he replied, without any emotions; then, like an afterthought, he softened his face. “I meant no harm.”

With his next breath, Dan felt like he was inhaling liquid rage.

“Dammit, Adrian! You have to stop thinking you can decide for others, thinking you have such right.”

The billionaire just kept looking at him, unconcerned by his fit of rage.

“You are wounded and sick, until not long ago you weren't lucid. Was I supposed to let you wake up while I wasn't present, so that you might have gotten hurt more while trying to get away from here?”

“You should have talked to me!”

“You didn't seem to be in the right state of mind to have a conversation with me.”

“Of course I wasn't, since you were drugging me!” Dan yelled, before a stab at his chest made him grit his teeth.

He fought to regain his calm, to slow down his breath and suppress a pained moan. He knew that getting mad would do him no good, but he couldn't avoid the urge to both try to escape from that place and to attack the man that had once been his friend.

After a moment, Adrian placed one hand on his shoulder to gently make him lie on the bed again.

“Dan, calm down. You are going to end up reopening your wounds, if you try to move.”

Ignoring his words, he shook his hand off and reached for the empty bowl and glass on the bedside table.

“Did you put something in the soup too? Or in the water?”

Adrian shook his head.

“I didn't want you to immediately fall asleep.”

Dan believed him, just because there wouldn't be any reasons to lie to him at this point, since he was totally helpless. At the same time, his chest was frozen in horror, given how easily Adrian had showed he was holding his life in his own hands. Dan had no control at all: the billionaire would be able to keep him prisoner, to drug him, to toy with him as much as he wanted, if that was his intention.

He took a shaking breath and lied down on the pillow, while a sense of defeat seeped through his bones.

“What are you going to do with me?”

Something crossed the eyes of the billionaire, a fleeting emotion Dan didn't have the time to recognize.

“Nothing. You'll stay here until you recover and then you will be able to go wherever you prefer.”

“Are you kidding me?”

Adrian let out a low sigh and for a moment he only seemed very tired.

“No, Dan. I am not.”

Dan stared at him, trying in vain to read his expression; despite everything, Adrian really seemed sincere, but that just fomented his doubts and frustration.

“What am I, to you? An experiment? Means to get some kind of atonement?” he growled, wishing he had the strength to get up from the bed and attack him, slam him against the wall, do something instead of just helplessly lie there.

“Atonement is something that does not concern me,” the billionaire replied, with a neutral voice that didn't tell whether he wanted to remind him he didn't need any atonement or that he could never hope for it.

Dan didn't know what to say anymore. He averted his eyes, leaving their breathing the only sound in the room. Divided between weakness and a lump of confused emotions, he felt his rage fading into exhaustion. He wasn't so foolish to actually trust his former friend – not again, that one time had been enough – but he wanted to believe that Adrian didn't have any bad intentions in his regards, at least for the moment.

When he had calmed down and accepted that resolution, he noticed that the billionaire was looking in front of him. He seemed more lost in thoughts than busy staring at the wall, and his face couldn't completely hide his exhaustion.

“Were you serious when you told me that you're going to let me go as soon as I recover?”

Adrian focused his attention on him again and crossed his legs with a fluid, elegant movement that clashed with the tiredness that for a moment had emerged on his face.”

“Dan, why would I want to stop you?” There was a smile on his lips, a smile that didn't reach his eyes but at the same time had no threatening edge. “I have never had the intention of keeping you here against your will. I'm just asking you to please accept my hospitality for two or three more weeks, until you are recovered enough.”

Those smooth, too reassuring words hit Dan with a shiver. He knew how kind Adrian could be while he was lying, now, his persuasive voice distorting the truth with the same ease with which he breathed.

Ozymandias always had a hidden agenda, he had learned it in the most painful way when he had come to know his plan in Karnak. But among his memories there was also Adrian with a bruised face and a tired gaze focused on him without the slightest hint of rage, there was Adrian kissing him with a care that had made his heart bled, Adrian soothing his guilt with the only words that could mean something among the accusing voices that had filled his head.

In the end, after a brief fight against himself, he sighed.

“No more sedatives.”

The billionaire nodded.

“No sedatives.”

 


	8. Chapter 8: Trust issues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, here it is the new chapter! Thank you for your comments and kudos and huge thanks to my beta Lucky_Lucy!

**Chapter 8: Trust issues**

 

Whole minutes had passed in perfect silence while he tried to process what he had come to know, looking for a way to accept his situation without feeling like a prisoner, and maybe for a way to understand Adrian's agenda. The billionaire was simply looking at him and seemed to have no intention of starting a conversation.

Dan didn't know how to react, though. He wasn't even sure he wanted to act in any way, now that his world had stopped making sense for the second time in his life and that he was helpless in the hands of the greatest, most frightening strategist of the last few decades.

“How did you find me? Have you been spying on me?” he finally asked him, because it couldn't have been a coincidence – Adrian finding him before the cops did.

“Had that been the case, I would never have waited until you were almost dead due to blood loss to bring you to a safe place.”

Adrian's voice had showed neither inflections nor surprise for that question, as if he had already gone through that very same conversation inside his mind and so didn't deem it worthy of emotion.

“Then how?”

“I heard that you had been wounded on the news, so I went out looking for you.”

Sure, the news, because Adrian had always been well informed. The memory felt so vivid in Dan's mind – more than a picture of that scene could ever have been: the wall covered in television screens, each one of them showing a different channel, many different languages mixing together in the room. And sitting in front of them, Ozymandias, in full battle regalia, as a lonely, rightful king of that little fortress in the middle of ice from where he had decided the fate of the world.

“And how did you manage to actually _find_ me?”

He didn't ask why: Adrian had already avoided that question once and he wasn't sure he could accept a sincere answer while he was still so vulnerable. Adrian's lips curved a little, in what on another man could have been a smile.

“Archie. You needed a place to keep it, so I supposed you chose to live in a house with a connection to an underground tunnel, or to a similar subterranean area. That would be the most suitable hiding place for a wounded person.”

Right, Archie. The most important one among his inventions, the one he cared the most about, which had accompanied him for years. There were echoes of patrols with Rorschach lingering inside its metal walls. There had been his first time with Laurie, there had been the most considerable part of his life, when the world was just a simple black and white path and his principles still held on, supporting his hope to be a masked hero.

“I guess now the Police has it,” he commented, lowering his gaze to face the bitterness spreading inside his chest.

“Actually, they don't.” Dan abruptly lifted his head, staring at Adrian with wide eyes. “After taking you to safety, I returned there to see what I could do. I'm afraid the underground tunnel where you kept Archimedes and your tools doesn't exist anymore, but I recovered all your possessions.”

Dan swallowed with difficulty. He needed water. Water and some time to think. Archie wasn't lost, not really, but maybe the fact that Adrian had it was even worse.

“And where did you take them?”

As if he had guessed his thirst, the billionaire filled the glass with water and offered it to him.

“To a safe place nearby.”

An answer which wasn't an answer. Dan should have expected that, but the hope of still having a chance at getting his inventions back had been overcome by cold fear of how Ozymandias could use them.

He didn't speak anymore, lost in his thoughts, until he felt the blanket covering him being lowered. He tensed, his eyes darting towards the billionaire's face with a mix of a questioning look and suspicion.

“I have to check your wound,” Adrian said, in his usual, calm voice.

Dan took a deep breath, trying to relax and failing while he let the man who just a few days before was the worst of his enemies examine him.

Even if Adrian was doing nothing unprofessional and just cleaned the wound on his belly like a doctor would, the touching, the intimacy disturbed him. Lying down on the bed under his so damned calm and self-assured gaze made him feel totally helpless, like he was a sacrifice ready to be violated. And even worse, those deft fingers brushing his skin with the kindness of a nurse's reminded him of  _that_ night.

“I can do it on my own,” he muttered, struggling to keep his face from flushing.

Adrian stopped, his hand at the edge of the wound, on a section of skin that didn't hurt enough to make the contact unpleasant.

“Do you have a medical degree, Dan?” he asked him, without any rhetorical edge, despite both of them knowing the answer.

He replied with a grimace.

“And what about you?”

“I do not, but I possess the necessary knowledge nonetheless. Don't you trust me?”

Dan couldn't help himself: he suddenly burst into laughter, a harsh, bitter sound that didn't carry any amusement and that, on his lips, felt as wrong as a stain on Adrian Veidt's clothes would feel. His chest hurt, not only because of the wounds anymore, and the laughter sounded like it belonged to a mad man, but he couldn't stop.

“Funny that you're the one talking about trust,” he panted, both because he was out of breath and because his cracked ribs hurt like hell.

The billionaire's face seemed carved in stone.

“I guess I'm not the most suitable person for that.”

The mix of hilarity and hysteria that had assaulted Dan's throat died down in a moment.

“Yeah, I trusted you, once.” His gaze hardened as he was faced the impenetrable expression of the smartest man in the world. “And I was wrong.”

“Yes. You were wrong, then.”

“While now I could trust you? Is that what you mean?”

Adrian sighed.

“I don't expect you to believe me or to trust me again. But I don't have any kind of hidden agenda in your regards and, now that I've given the world peace, I don't have any other secret plans to fulfill either.”

“Sure, at least until the next threat of a global war makes you kill another fifteen million people,” he retorted in a sharp voice.

Adrian didn't answer, he just kept cleaning his wound. During the whole conversation his fingers had been light and careful, as if those words hadn't touched him in the slightest. And maybe they hadn't, but Dan couldn't avoid noticing that his expression had become even more detached than was usual.

He suddenly went silent.

Adrian Veidt was an assassin – judging by mere numbers he was one of the worst men that had ever existed- but he had saved his life. He was taking care of him, without resenting his words. And Dan didn't want to think that Adrian might help him recover only to sacrifice him in a near future not now that he was too vulnerable and incapable of defending himself, had he had to face another one of his plans.

“Sorry,” he said, before he could stop himself.

It would seem that a life full of good manners and scarce self-confidence couldn't be erased even after the events of Karnak.

“Considering both the unpleasant situation you are in and our past records, I would surely not blame you for being suspicious and hostile in my regards,” the billionaire replied with a perfectly leveled voice while he went back to bandaging the wound.

Dan wished he were less damn kind and detached, he wanted to see him more human; he wanted the person with whom he had talked countless times about Archie and his inventions during some meetings among vigilantes that had lasted until morning; he wanted the interesting colleague with whom he could discuss every subject. Because yes, during those times his friend had been human, it had been the real Adrian, not the mask of the controlled billionaire who had saved the world in his own twisted way, not the smartest man of the planet, who, after having fought criminals as Ozymandias – like one of the heroes Dan had always looked up to –, had decided the fate of fifteen million people.

Or maybe he was wrong, maybe the real Adrian was indeed that emotionless and detached businessman with bloodstained hands that had made the safety of the world a mere matter of numbers, and Dan had never realized it. He watched him place the medical supplies into a drawer and he suddenly felt very tired.

“I'd like to sleep,” he commented, trying not to think that his words sounded like a request for permission.

Adrian just nodded and turned the light off, leaving the little lamp on the bedside table as the only source of light in the room.

“I can't assure you I will be here when you wake up, but I ask you to refrain from doing anything senseless, such as straining your body or trying to go out.”

“I won't,” Dan replied, carefully shifting in a more comfortable position.

Not so long as he was wounded and weak and too hurt and confused to plan an escape or to realize what his savior's true intentions were. He would wait until he had recovered enough to defend himself, before trying something. Feeling relieved because of that thought, Dan closed his eyes without even caring about Adrian's presence and fell asleep in a matter of seconds.

 

When he woke up, feeling sore almost everywhere but more lucid than he had ever been since the night he got stabbed, Adrian wasn't there.

He looked around, trying to put things into focus despite his shortsightedness, but the lack of noises of any kind gave him a good degree of certainty that he truly was alone. On the bedside table, next to a glass full of water and a plate with a buttered slice of bread, was a new pair of glasses.

 


	9. Chapter 9: Trapped

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really really sorry for the long wait! Now that I've got some free time I'm back with the translation, so here it is the new chapter. It's unbetaed, so I hope it won't be too bad, but I didn't want to make you wait any longer. Thank you for your comments and feedbacks, I really appreciate them!

**Chapter 9: Trapped**

 

To be a prisoner and to pretend not to be one was strange. It was even stranger when his wrists weren't tied behind his back or against the wall, or when he wasn't feeling weak and sick because of some kind of drugs. His only limitation was a locked door, in a sober apartment which possessed all the comfort that no prisons would ever have.

There weren't any windows, but the lamps made up for the lack of sunlight, erasing the sensation of actually being in a bunker. Aside from the bedroom where he had woken up and the little bathroom, Dan had access to a kitchen with a well supplied pantry – the food was surprisingly fresh – and a living room, where the bookcase stood out as the most interesting part of the apartment. During the last few days, Dan had browsed through the books and, among some familiar thrillers and ornithology essays, he had also found  _Under the hood_ . He had recognized it with a stab at his chest, sharper than the ones what made him hiss when he moved too fast or breathed too deeply. He had immediately put the book back into its place, and hadn't believed for one moment that Hollis' book had been there by chance. No, Adrian had purposely left it there for him, in a show of a refined sadism or as a little gesture of comfort. Not even in his mind did Dan understand how to feel about it.

Aside from the bookcase, the other things that meant something interesting for him where the two locked doors, which were sturdy enough to stop any thoughts of trying to break through them by brute strength. The locks were too complex to leave any hopes in picking them without the proper tools, and he had the impression that not even Rorschach would be able to open them. Then, there was the entrance door, which resembled that thick metal surface that protected the bank vaults.

He had realized immediately that the place he was in was probably Ozymandias' lair.

Adrian came to visit him twice a day, to change his medications and to cook for him, checking his progress in recovery and keeping him company, keeping his boring solitude at bay for a little while. Dan had started preferring his presence to remaining alone in the silence of his own thoughts.

Not even once had they talked about Karnak or peace – which still held on, despite everything, despite having been born from such a wrong act. And he hadn't asked anything about his own situation after the day he had confronted Adrian about the sedatives. He wasn't proud of his resolution, but he had reflected a lot during the solitary hours when he had nothing to do, until he had decided he would accept the situation he was in, accept that limbo of reassuring ignorance, and wait to completely recover before seeing what his fate would be. Before seeing if Ozymandias would actually let him go and discovering what kind of world he would have to face once he managed to escape from that too comfortable prison.

_A flabby failure who sits whimpering in his basement. And now he had found another basement where to hide._

Rorschach would have ended up disgusted by him. Maybe even Laurie would criticize his apathy and would rather rebel out of principle, if she were in his shoes, instead of accepting a truce with a mass murderer; but as wounded and helpless as he was, at the mercy of the most dangerous enemy he had ever met, Dan couldn't choose to rebel.

He had to heal, first. To recover, so that he would be able to take a decision and to follow it until the end without his body betraying him, without a mind too exhausted and weak trapping him in doubts.

Since he was totally disconnected from the outside world, he had to trust the watch inside the flat to keep track of the time. Adrian had told him that sixteen days had passed, since he had found him in the abandoned tunnel of the subway. When he wasn't reading, his thoughts were indissolubly focused on his former friend: Dan wanted to solve the enigma represented by the smartest man in the world, to discover who Adrian actually was, if the billionaire, the vigilante, the murderer who had killed millions of people without batting an eye, the friend Dan was used to trust or the man that had lied under him without any rebellion, letting him vent his frustration on his body while caressing his back.

Even if his visits didn't last more than an hour and they often ended after only a few minutes, Adrian had never been so much part of his life as he was now. Dan had no control over his presence, nor could he decide whether he wanted to see him or not, but he couldn't really behave in a hostile way.

Sometimes Adrian seemed less detached, more human, like he was now, with a kind expression that wasn't able to completely hide his exhaustion and the tired eyes that showed how he had spent a couple of nights awake instead of sleeping. And yet, Adrian had checked his wounds with the usual care, ignoring his shame and assuring him that he would soon have been able to move without feeling pain at all, before walking to the kitchen and started making lunch despite Dan's objections.

He watched him using the pan with the same, elegant self-confidence he had showed when he had defeated Rorschach and him in a fight what seemed like years before; even the meals he made were perfect, like his every action, his every plan or idea he desired to put into motion had been.

It was like he couldn't fail, not even in cooking.

Dan managed to suppress the hysterical laughter that threatened to escape from his lips, but Adrian must have felt his gaze, because he turned around to face him.

“Is there something you desire?”

Again, Dan had to refrain himself from smiling in irony.

_Aside from having my costume back and knowing what your true intentions are, Adrian?_

“I'd like to have some more ornithology books,” he replied instead, refusing to think about Archie and his equipment. He would take care of that _later_ , now he just had to focus on healing.

The billionaire nodded.

“I'll bring them tonight.”

So he would come twice that day, like he always did. Dan made himself more comfortable on the chair, grateful to be sitting there and not lying on a bed where he had felt even more wounded and vulnerable.

“Why don't you let one of your men take care of me, if you really want to keep me here?”

This time, when Adrian turned to meet his eyes, he was carrying a plate containing an omelet which smelled and looked delicious.

“You're a wanted man, Dan, your face is on every newspaper. Would you rather be looked after by a person you have never met?”

While taking the plate, Dan didn't avert his gaze, finding again that exhaustion in the billionaire's blue eyes and in tiny details that he would have never noticed if he hadn't spent the last few days in his company.

“No. But you look tired.”

Adrian curved his lips in the shadow of an empty smile.

“I can assure you that you are the least onerous of my tasks.”

His kind, detached voice annoyed him, like it was happening increasingly often.

“I guess rebuilding New York and watching over your utopia of worldwide peace are way more demanding tasks than taking care of a single human being,” he snapped.

“Precisely.”

Dan didn't answer back anymore. He was tired. Tired of provoking him with sharp words and irony that weren't met, tired of being hostile towards him when Adrian had built a wall of kindness and politeness that stopped his every attempt of starting a fight. He was tired of looking for another, more direct and easier reason to hate him. He was tired of having to hate him.

He began eating in silence, all too conscious of those blue eyes wandering around the room to give him some privacy during the meal. Despite that kindness, Adrian's presence was still making him uncomfortable, for more reasons than he'd have liked to admit, but when he had eaten the first half of the omelet, he put the fork down and offered him his plate.

 

 

 

Adrian let his eyes following the two journalists that had been his last appointment for the day, polite smile still in place on his lips, while the exhaustion was making head hurt, together with the too many concerns that didn't give him any respite.

It was easy to pretend to be calm and collected, to give the right answer to their questions about the political meaning of this new worldwide alliance, but that didn't prevent him from knowing all what was happening behind the scene, all the obstacles he had crossed and those he still had to overcome to guide humanity away form its own extinction.

There were politicians to manipulate, the economy to bend to his own will, New York and the whole world to heal from the wounds left by the day of his success, the free energy research to work on without unveiling the way he had framed Jon, his economical empire to rule and a thousand things more, a number of tasks and thoughts and duties that were enough to challenge even his mind.

He had given the world peace, but its foundation were so frail and he was the only one who could support it.

_Nothing never ends, right, Jon?_

And now, there was also Dan.

For a moment, his mind was filled by the images of his former friend with a suspicious gaze, of the Nite Owl suit hanging in a secret compartment of the closet in his apartment, of the awareness of how easy it would have been to kill Dan in Karnak, or during the last few months, before he could become a nuisance or even a danger. A familiar knock at the door pulled him out of his thoughts.

“Come in.”

His secretary walked into the room with a stack of paper that placed on his desk.

“Mister Veidt, there's a person waiting for you. I told her that you're too busy to receive her and that she should call to schedule an appointment, but still she insisted to remain in the waiting room during the last hour.”

A movement behind the secretary's back caught his gaze, and Adrian saw that stubborn guest. He recognized her in a moment, despite her short hair and her face hardened by a bitterness that had erased any traces of the naivety she had once possessed.

“I have a few minutes before my next meeting. Send her to my office and please, make sure that no one interrupts us.”

For a moment, his secretary looked taken aback, but in the blink of an eye she recovered her professional manners, being that efficient and diligent employed again.

“Of course, mister Veidt.”

When a minute later the guest walked into his office, her eyes never leaving his face, Adrian stood up, facing her with his hands behind his back, in what was his usual pose, and a vague interest in an expression where there wasn't room for the welcome smile he used to show to his interlocutors.

“Laurel. I did not think you would have come to me.”

 


	10. Chapter 10: So close

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another not betaed chapter, I really hope it's readable. Thank you so much for your feedbacks!

**Chapter 10: So close**

 

It had taken her a little more than two weeks to arrive in front of Adrian.

Fifteen days of cautious research, night patrolling in the proximity of Dan's house and interrogation of the lowlifes who always had some information to spill under the right persuasive attitude, but she had gotten nothing. No one had even the slightest idea of where Nite Owl was, there was no body, no traces, and the uncertainty had become more and more unbearable at each passing day, until it had pushed her towards the man who had taught her the true meaning of hatred.

She couldn't have done anything differently, even if Dan's and her time together had ended, even if Nite Owl and Silk Spectre would never own the night side by side again.

She had loved Dan. She had loved him because they were alive, because he was warm and reassuring, he smiled at her, he hugged her, he understood her. He made her truly feel wanted. Dan was  _human_ . But he wasn't Jon and she hadn't been strong enough.

When everything was crumbling all around them, in the devastating silence of a relationship poisoned by guilt and sorrow, she had realized that they would never be able to build something new and durable, not if they remained together. At their feet there were only debris the day she had left, but she knew that only by separating from each other they would be able to truly leave their past behind and forget about what was still tormenting them.

Even now, while she was waiting for Veidt's secretary to let her into his office, she wasn't pushed by the desire to win back a lost love, but to her loyalty to a former companion. Aside from her mother, Dan was the only person still alive – still on Earth – she felt a bond to.

She also couldn't accept to be the last keeper of that horrifying secret, because the mere thought of Dan being alive, even if they weren't living together and seeing each other, even if they weren't talking to each other anymore, made her feel relieved. Maybe it was the egoistical knowledge that she wasn't the only one who was suffering, who was struggling against that burden; maybe it was the hope that they could rebuild something together one day, after what happened in Karnak stopped weighing on their conscience, after they managed to fix what Veidt's plan had shattered inside their minds. As things were now, she would have kept her distance in any other circumstances, but she would never be able to forgive herself for having left Dan at his fate, if she hadn't acted after that report.

“Please, this way.”

Laurie looked up at the perfect make up on the secretary's face, then stood up and followed her inside the office.

_He_ was there, and it was so absurd that his mere presence was enough for her to feel threatened and claustrophobic, after she had spent the last years of her adolescence fighting against men that were double her size. She didn't even notice when the secretary walked out the room, closing the door behind her.

“Laurel. I didn't expect your visit.”

He was detached and courteous, standing in a peaceful way, even if she wasn't so naïve to truly think him harmless. He was impeccable and well-dressed as always, but his usual, inhuman appearances now were spoiled by a hint of exhaustion.

She still hated him with unbearable intensity.

“Is it your doing?”

Ozymandias took a step towards her, just one single movement, and she tensed like it had been an open threat.

“You should be more specific in your accusation.”

A spurt of rage burned her throat, tempting her with an impulsive action that, she knew it already, would never grant her any satisfaction. She managed to remain still, but she wasn't as good as Adrian in hiding her emotions and she was aware of how clearly he could read from her face what she thought about that pretense of fake courtesy and confusion.

“You know very well what I'm talking about. Dan was exposed and now he's disappeared. Did you do it?”

Ozymandias' lips quivered almost imperceptibly, like he didn't even deign her of a real mocking smile.

“If I had truly wanted to get rid of you two, I would have done it in Karnak, I'd never have waited for whole months.”

He wasn't lying, he would really do it, like he had eliminated Rorschach.

But it hadn't been Adrian, not directly, at least. It had been Jon.

_And what if it had been me? Would you have killed me too?_

She pursed her lips to reject that familiar pain threatening to swallow her whole, and the rage and the hatred engulfed her again, shielding her from her other emotions while she met Ozymandias' remorseless eyes.

She hated him, more than she thought to be possible, because the person who created the horrifying secret that still tormented her dreams with bloodstained nightmares wasn't supposed to be so peaceful and impassible in front of someone who knew his crime.

“There will be a day when someone else shoots you, with a bullet you won't be able to grab,” she hissed, before she stop herself.

“And tell me, do you hate me more because of what I had to do to accomplish peace, or because you think you lost Jon because of me?”

It was like a slap in her face, made even more painful by the soft kindness of his voice. Worse even than the kick that had stolen her breath away in Karnak, after she had tried to kill him and Ozymandias had proved so much more superior to her, ridiculing her hopes and stopping the bullet she had wanted to put into his heart.

“You, fucking bastard...”

It was his smile what stopped her, a moment before she unleashed the fist she was already throwing at his face.

“Are you sure you want to attack me? Last time it didn't go well, for you, and you had a gun.”

No, she hadn't come there to attack, she had come to get information and they both knew it.

Her body couldn't suppress a shiver that had nothing to do with her rage or the adrenaline flowing in her veins. Adrian's expression was still courteous and politely detached, as if her presence and hatred didn't concern him at all – and maybe that was exactly the case –, but Laurie felt her instinct screaming a warning, like it happened during the nights of patrolling: now there wasn't Dan, there wasn't Jon, she was completely alone. And Adrian could make her disappear without a second thought, snapping her neck or simply denouncing her as Silk Spectre to the police, or creating fake accusations so that she would find herself in jail and would never be free again, because he was the smartest man in the world, the most powerful, the richest. If Laurie could still glare at him in hatred and yearn to feel him dying under her fingers it was only because Ozymandas was letting her. Because he still hadn't decided to get rid of her in the most definitive way.

She strengthened her fists, but she had to go away before she would let her emotions get the best of her and sign her own doom.

“If I discover that you are the one behind his disappearance, I swear I'll find a way to make you pay.”

She turned and walked towards the door without sending him another glance, despite feeling his eyes burning her back like a mute threat.

“Laurel.” Laurie stopped with her fingers on the door knob, her heart hammering inside her chest and the awareness, so vivid and scorching hot that Adrian had no rights to call her by her name. “What I know is that Dan is alive. If he were dead, they would have found a body, by now.”

 

 

 

That night, Adrian looked even more exhausted. He was hiding it with his usual behavior, with his soft and pleasant voice that was never harsh, with his elegant movements that accompanied his every action; but not even the perfect features of a face that seemed unable to age managed to hide the bags under his eyes and the signs of too much work and too little rest.

Dan waited for him to stand up in what he had learned to be the sign Adrian was leaving, before making a decision.

“Do you have something else you must do, for today?”

Adrian looked at him with with his usual unreadable expression, even if Dan would swear he had caught a glimpse of curiosity crossing his eyes.

“No.”

“Then why don't you stay here? You would save some time and could rest a little more.”

Dan felt red warmth spreading on his face while he was talking, but he wasn't offering his company for the night. He had just noticed how exhausted Adrian had been in the last few days and the thought of being at least partially responsible of that made him uncomfortable, even if he wasn't sure if it was because he didn't want to increase the debt he already had towards him or if he truly wanted to not worsen his too busy hours.

The billionaire studied him for a moment, before letting his hand fall at his side, without grabbing his jacket but without approaching him either.

“There is only one bed.”

It was more a refusal than a consent, and Dan couldn't suppress the irrational and annoying feeling to be inadequate. Maybe Adrian had misunderstood his intentions and now was hesitating because he hadn't enjoyed the intimacy they had experimented, and didn't know how to politely refuse a repetition of that night.

“It's big enough for us to comfortably sleep on it,” he replied, trying not to stress out too much the word 'sleep'.

There were too many thoughts filling his mind, one more insidious than the other: the turmoil at the thought of lying next to him, of sharing a bed with a man who had destroyed his life only to save it some time later, a man who had trapped him in a golden cage from where Dan didn't know if he would ever be able to escape; the embarrassment of being misunderstood, as if an innocent proposal could hide the offer for some sex –  _and would he truly deny the fact he had enjoyed it? That he had felt pleasure while those bloodstained hands had kindly touched him?_ –; the humiliation of a refusal, especially now that he had started behaving towards Adrian with something different than the hatred he would have deserved. But Dan was good at ignoring his most annoying and distressing thoughts. He had become good at compromising.

Without waiting for an answer, he lied down on the bed, keeping his eyes on Adrian. After a moment, with a hesitation that coming from him stood out like blood on the snow, the billionaire nodded, taking off his pants and shirt, folding them neatly on a chair, before joining him.

They found themselves lying only a few inches away, both of them turned to the opposite side, in a silence that had never been so heavy. And even while his heart was pounding in his head, Dan couldn't suppress the strange feeling that Adrian was more uncomfortable than him.

 


	11. Chapter 11: The sound of silence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry for the waiting. This chapter isn't betaed, but I hope it's readable anyway. Thank you so much for your comments and kudos, they're always very appreciated!

**Chapter 11: The sound of silence**

 

Four hours and five minutes.

Adrian had slept for four hours and five minutes.

Dan had heard his breath becoming a barely perceptible sound, too low and regular to be forced, as the silence suddenly became less oppressive in comparison to that grim, awkward atmosphere full of unsaid things, secrets and memories, and old resentment that lingered between them like a shroud.

For a few moments, Dan had just listened to him sleeping, with his eyes focused on the alarm clock, where the display was close enough for him to be able to read the numbers without needing his glasses; then he had thought of how easy it would have been to kill him, a preemptive action to make sure that he wouldn't be used in one of Adrian's plans ever again. And yet, he couldn't deny how reassuring, even likable, his presence was, after those many nights spent sleeping alone.

Just as that thought was about to become too sharp and upsetting, Adrian's breath had abruptly stopped, a sound that, in the silence surrounding the bedroom, had echoed like a scream.

Careful not to make any sudden movements, Dan had rolled on his other side to look at him, finding himself staring at an unbelievable sight, because he couldn't process the fact that something could unsettle Adrian Veidt. And yet, there it was as clear as the day: the unbreakable vigilante had lost his composure, even if it had happened with his usual self-control. He hadn't whimpered, nor had he screamed, he hadn't kept turning over in the sheets, because it seemed that even during nightmares Ozymandias was different from normal human beings; he had just tensed, his breath escaping his lips faster than the usual, sometimes with a hiss or a broken sound, like his own subconscious prevented him to groan, to show a tangible proof a weakness.

Being used to sleep more hours than he needed, since he was trapped in that little flat without many things to do to spent time, Dan had been lying awake, staring at him minute after minute, wondering if Adrian was being tormented by the same images that had stained his dreams of blood. Asking himself if seeing the billionaire being so vulnerable and, for once, lacking his mask of indifference, made him feel more satisfied or more shaken.

When he had finally decided to sleep, turning away from him, the tension in the body so close to his own had yet to disappear.

He had woken up after what seemed like a few minutes, feeling Adrian moving behind him and then standing up. The display had made him aware that the billionaire had allowed himself just a little more than four hours of sleep.

Dan hadn't spoken a word, he hadn't let him know he was awake and just lied there, facing away, until he heard him disappearing into the bathroom. The sound of the running water from the shower came soon after.

He had often been wondering if Adrian ever regretted what he did in Karnak. If he was able to feel guilt. If he were mad. If, somehow, that inhuman massacre unsettled him, behind that detached mask. And now, while he lied down on a bed where he could still smell the mild, pleasurable scent of his aftershave, Dan realized that at least one of those questions had found an answer.

 

_It's the silence the worst among the perceptions._

_In the silence, the sound of your thoughts can become deafening, it can make you lose your mind and force you to face the deepest darkness of your conscience._

_Adrian stares at the stream of water in the shower, naked and motionless, with his feet on the soft rug beneath the sink._

_He thinks about Dan and Laurie, that should have been together, the only witnesses of his plan that have survived, the two people he spared, allowing them to leave so that they would be able to rebuild their lives side by side._

_He thinks of Blake, of the violence of his fists, of his expression while he was falling down among the shattered glass, of his smile, that was both threat and irony against everyone, even himself – and he thinks of the scorching hot heat of his hand, of the mark of his bites, of his mouth that tasted like smoke and alcohol._

_He thinks about Nite Owl's costume, hidden next to his own, in a secret space of his closet._

_He thinks about Archie, hidden away in one of his underground estates, one splendid example of technology that, by now, he knows to fly almost as well as Dan knows._

_He thinks of what he did, what he doesn't regret, what he would have done anyway and would do again to maintain peace, and he thinks of what would have happened if he hadn't been the smartest man in the world during the prelude of a nuclear holocaust._

_Then he enters the small shower, setting himself under the hot stream, and with the sound of water replacing the silence, for some precious minutes he manages to stop thinking at all._

 

“It's because of Karnak that you can't sleep?”

Adrian tensed. Maybe Dan had truly hit deep, despite the imperturbable mask the billionaire wore like a shield; maybe the rough night had allowed his question to catch him with his defenses lowered. Or maybe Dan had just become better at reading his silence, his pauses and his polite manners.

“Everyone has nightmares,” Adrian finally said, his eyes staring at the shirt he was trying to smooth before putting it on.

“But not everyone has your faults.”

This time, Adrian didn't reply, but he didn't even deny his comment, nor did he relax his posture. He just shifted his gaze back to him, staring at him without any emotions, the blue of his eyes giving away nothing, like they were two shards of ice that had been deprived of emotion many years before.

“Why, Adrian?”

It was always the same, damn question that hadn't stopped echoing inside his mind every time he thought about him. But now, Dan realized he was truly prone to listen without making an accusation beforehand, and he felt like he had the right to an answer.

Maybe Adrian felt the same, because something softened in his expression, letting out glimpses of his former friend, now that the detached mask of the rational, smartest man in the world was cracking.

“Dan,” he murmured. No more 'I'd like you to understand', no more 'grow up'. He just sighed and brushed his cheek. It lasted only one second, too fast for Dan to react, and he realized that it was the first contact between them aside from the times Adrian had taken care of him like a doctor, or had supported him for the first few days after he managed to stand up again.

When he searched for Adrian's eyes again, they were clear like he had never seen them and they seemed to carry all the weight of the world.

“If there had been another way, I would have never resorted to my plan.”

For only one moment, Dan hoped he could see regret in his face. One moment before his hands closed into fists, nails digging into his own skin, while he remembered how huge and unforgivable his guilt was, a guilt he didn't even apologize for.

“There had to be another way. Why didn't you thought of something else?” he pressed on, like it would have really changed something if he managed to get Adrian to admit he was wrong. “Why didn't you talk about it with us? With Jon?”

He remembered the night he had come to visit him, to warn him about the assassin who had killed the Comedian and told him Rorschach's theory of a mask killer. He remembered Adrian's serious gaze, the soft sadness in it, that he hadn't truly understood, then, while he had explained to him the impotence of the most powerful being on the Earth; the gaze of a person who had already planned to kill millions of people.

“How could you do such a thing?!”

Despite his previous intention when he had started that conversation, he would have felt the urge to punch him, if only the smile that had appeared on Adrian's face hadn't been so similar to a crying.

“What else should I have done?”

“Nothing. You had no right.”

The billionaire shook his head.

“To be aware of everything, to have the ability to follow the events and to predict the results and the unavoidable consequences of humanity's action... it's not a gift, Dan. It is a burden. My responsibility and my duty. I was the only one who could save humanity from annihilation.” His voice lowered to almost a whisper, carrying the same exhaustion that could be found inside his eyes. “I couldn't pretend I didn't know.”

It was then that Dan understood, a realization that stole all the breath from his lungs.

Adrian had planned to kill millions of people while being perfectly aware of his actions; it hadn't been the delusion of a mad man, it hadn't been the action of someone with the god complex, or the need to be on pair with Alexander the Great, a sort of whim from a psychopath, like he had believed back in Karnak; but a rational, clear-headed plan.

The smartest man in the world had considered every factor, every possibility, every advantage and disadvantage with the same cold rationality he had used to build his economical empire, until he had come to realize that to ensure humanity's survival he had to annihilate fifteen millions of people.

And he had annihilate Adrian Veidt first.

All the anger and the resentment Dan had been feeling until a few moments before disappeared in a knot of sadness.

Even for a lonely vigilante like he was, the idea of sacrificing everything for one single goal – his moral safeguards, every aspiration, every desire – was inconceivable. It felt almost painful, the realization that a man that seemed to have all actually had nothing.

But he knew another man who had erased himself in favor of an obsession.

“It's funny, you know?” he murmured after a few moments of silence. “In the end, you and Rorschach are so alike...”

He gained the unexpected satisfaction of seeing Adrian's forehead frowning in surprise.

“Sorry?”

“He too did what he did because he felt responsible. His life was based on the nights of patrolling, on punishing criminals. It wasn't a pretty life, but he couldn't live in any other way.”

He bit the inside of his cheek before he gave voice of the thought that, more than the others, would have sounded like pity.

_He too was alone like you are._

 

 

 


End file.
